Touché, touché, touché.
I never quite realised how little courage and fight and how much fear I have – brim-side full, bubbling over, taking control. If fear was a budding showbiz star, it would be my very own limelight-stealing nemesis. You get the gist of it.
Sure, I fear the usual – critters, scream-worthy darkness, paranoid scenarios, oversleeping…but nothing quite beats my fear of failure. My very own brand of anxiety that I may never live up to my potential, never achieve greatness, never change the world for the better – this list is way too long and exhausting.
And thus I write. For when I write, my fears are translated into small, gritty type and they become real, approachable and totally bite-sized. Suddenly these giants have shrunk into crumbly chunks, and I come face to face with the comforting reality that my fears aren’t that all-consuming (and perhaps even delectable) after all.
Ah, writing is truly medicine to the soul. And sometimes-irrational fears.
New day ahead; old fears; new fight.
Rock and roll, sista.